


if the lord don't forgive me

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Among Us (Video Game) Setting, Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Violence, literally an among us au, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Tom's job is to kill. Greg makes that real difficult.(or! the among us themed tomgreg fic i threatened to write on tumblr, rated m to be safe)
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	if the lord don't forgive me

**Author's Note:**

> so uhhh yeah. i'm a fluff writer at heart but the amoung us fans...y'all create some sad content. i respect that. here's what i can offer you. sorry it's not fluffy and it's sad and a lot of people die. i'm warning u now this is not happy. i am sorry.
> 
> title is shamelessly stolen from hozier's work song

All in all, Tom was pretty sure he could do as he was asked.

It was a terrible task, and he’d probably ensure his one way ticket to hell when he died, but if sabotaging a mission, if killing a few nameless spacesuits in order to do so, would be enough to finally move him up in the fucking galaxy, they he would just close his eyes and do it. He was going to hell anyway. It was terrible but it was fairly simple.

The readout he had accepted had told him that his partner would be in brown, and they’d already made brief eye contact on the loading dock, a silent understanding passing between them. Tom wondered briefly, if the face in brown felt as fucking messed up about the job as he did. Was he doing it for the right reasons? Were there right reasons? 

And Tom knew that he’d done a lot of bad things to claw his way up in life but _murder_ wasn’t one of them. 

(He hoped it wouldn’t come down to that, but he had promised Logan, promised him he would do exactly what was asked of him.)

It would be good to mingle now, Tom thought, while the ship made the jump to lightspeed, get a drink maybe. If he had a drink in him, people would not question why his hands were shaking as badly as they were. Maybe he should pick someone, make friends with them. Someone who would testify on his behalf if it came down to that. 

“Oh sorry man,” someone said, bumping past him.

“It’s fine,” he shot back-- he had to get it under control or when things started going wrong, they might just dispose of him to be rid of him and his shit attitude, “I mean, it’s fine.”

There weren’t too many people Tom had met who were taller than him, but this one, wearing black, with his helmet tucked under his arm had him beat by several inches. This could work. He seemed a but like a space cadet-- figuratively at least-- and Tom was already thinking his death could be blamed on an accident. If he was clumsy enough. 

(What would his mother say, if she heard the way he was thinking.)

“Have you ever been to space before?” he asked. He was excited. That was clear from the bounce in his heels, the eagerness to start a conversation

Tom blinked at him. He hadn’t really expected anybody to be friendly. These sort of ships, where the crew were the passengers and vice versa were more like work than a pleasure cruise. Shit broke down, even deaths had been reported. People attempting to fix things they weren’t qualified to do. Tom understood why his assignment was here. It was common knowledge that if you came on one of these rides, you maybe took your life into your hands. 

They’d be able to play it off for a bit. He and the hulking man in the brown space suit. 

“Of course I have,” Tom replied, “Hasn’t everybody?”

“Not since I was a kid,” he said, “I’m uh, Greg, by the way.” He stuck out a hand, and Tom looked at him. When he didn’t shake it, Greg jammed it in his pocket, “Kind of exciting I guess. Space adventures. Adventures in space.”

He was likeable enough, Tom thought. Maybe a little stupid, but he sort of had a face you could trust. Sad eyes though. Like a fucking puppy.

“Tom,” he said, “Are you always this fucking talkative?”

“Oh yeah, my mom says it’s a bad habit. I just like, talk, when there’s nothing else to do. When it’s quiet.”

Tom thought he could work with that. Maybe the kid would talk himself into a hole if it came down to it. This could work, and Tom need never have the blood on his hands. Logan would be happy, and the little morals he had left might come out of this intact. A win win really.

When things started to go bad-- he didn’t know how soon-- he’d need a partner to vouch for him. 

How soon would a suspicious death, a malfunctioned piece of machinery, a broken test, how soon would they arouse enough worry that people might really start to question. What would they do? Hide away in their rooms and pray until they landed? Try and play the hero? Sit around and throw accusations across the room? Tom really didn’t know. You heard about mutinies happening, heard about crazies coming aboard and murdering everybody. What would happen if he was found out?

It wasn’t worth thinking about right now though.

“Buy you a drink,” Tom said, “Come on.”

***

Brown wastes no time being a killer. The first body is found, wire box open outside of the security room. It is distinctly singed. An accident. Unavoidable it seems. They are an appropriate amount of sad. Tom didn’t even know his name. The body is brought to the morgue, and nothing else comes of is. 

Tom knew that it couldn’t keep being that easy. How many accidental deaths made you start to question if they were really just that-- accidents? 

He eyed Greg over breakfast the next morning, but the death appeared to have little impact on him. If he used Greg to gage the rest of the crew, then there’s little to worry about now. A tragedy.

“You eat like a fucking animal,” Tom said. He had settled on coffee-- it was more like grainy coffee flavored water though-- and Greg looked up, forkful of egg halfway to his mouth.

“I’m hungry. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Tom just frowned at him, and returned to his datapad, flipping through the galaxy’s morning news. Mining strikes, political unrest. Nothing fucking new. He shut it off with a sigh.

“I’m supposed to fix the wiring in electric today, it went on the fritz last night I guess,” Greg said casually, in between bites of food, “Did you read your list of stuff?”

“Uh huh,” Tom replied, and he had, but he wasn’t going to do them. If he was able to stop this ship from making it’s destination without shedding any blood, that’s what he would do. Maybe letting fuses blow and gears break down would work, “I’m supposed to help you I guess.”

“Oh,” Greg smiled, “That’s cool.”

He didn’t know why he’d said it, only that his partner had started killing people and he needed Greg alive still, to vouch for him when things got dicey. If brown saw him around, he’d leave Greg be for now. That was the reason, nothing more than that. 

“ _Cool?_ ” Tom shook his head, “Good lord.”

But if Greg had been insulted by his tone he didn’t show it, instead returning to his food, and flipping through his own news. He laughed at something he read-- maybe a message from a friend or the mother he had mentioned-- and asked Tom his opinion on several of the key figures in one of the articles. 

“I don’t know, I just feel like when the news talks about the people who own the news it’s a little sketchy. It’s like, I don’t know, one of my core principles.”

Tom eyed him. He had to admit. The stupid shit Greg said was sort of endearing, “Right.”

An alarm went off. Several people looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for the sound. Across the way, Tom caught brown slide into the room. The man wasn’t anybody he knew-- he didn’t know why he thought that it might be someone he knew-- and he nodded at Tom. Tom quickly looked away.

A computerized voice came across the PA, cheerfully informing them that there had been a breach in the oxygen reserves, and that if they didn’t get up and fix it, the oxygen would run out in 24 hours.

Oh, Tom realized, he wants them to turn on each other. He’s into it or whatever. That’s why he’d begun the shit so early. Maybe he wanted to kill them himself-- some people were fucking monsters-- but maybe he got off on watching shit hit the fan and people go crazy. Had he taken this job because he thought it would be fun? 

“Shit,” Greg said, “What do we do?”

“Probably fix the O2,” Tom remarked casually. Several people got up, heading out. Some remained. They didn’t all need to go, that was true, but Greg seemed like one anxious motherfucker, “Unless you are particularly talented, I’d imagine your services will not be needed.”

“You know that the human body can only stay awake for a couple of minutes without air,” Greg said. His eyes darted to the door, then back to Tom.

“If you want to go so bad, then you should go. But I’m fairly certain they’ve got it under control.”

Greg fidgeted in his seat, but didn’t stand up. 

“Alright,” he finally said, “If you say so.”

It was easy, Tom thought. The kid was already practically eating out of his hand. If his other half wanted a shitshow, wanted the crew to dissolve into a fucking civil war, he thought he had a solid witness on his side. And he hadn’t even had to work that hard.

***

Brown came to see him, cornered him in the fucking bathroom while he was brushing his teeth. Despite the lack of a flight suit, Tom knew his face now.

“You picked up on the game yet?” he asked, leaning against the sink. Tom hated the casualness in his tone. Like he was talking about fucking _basketball_ and not murder. It was sick.

“Uh huh,” Tom said, “Make them crazy. Let them destroy themselves. That way, when you and I are left standing it won’t look like our fault, just another fucking mutiny.”

“I don’t know why Logan calls you a moron,” he said ernestly, “You’re not that dumb.”

“Oh thanks,” Tom frowned, “I’ve got the one in black. I’m gonna use him as my little buddy. Keep me innocent until the end.”

“Smart,” Brown nodded approvingly, and Tom felt almost proud at the gesture. Like a little kid getting a good grade in school and the teacher’s approval, “I’ll get one of my own. But if he gets suspicious, you kill him. We can’t afford it. This is a big crew.”

“Obviously,” Tom nodded too.

“Glad we’re clear,” Brown said. Tom briefly thought to ask his name, but then decided it was best to keep this impersonal. All of it. He didn’t want to know the name of the killer-- and he knew it was just fucking _rich_ calling him a killer like Tom hadn’t agreed to the same exact shit, “See you on the field.”

He gave Tom a mock salute, and left. Tom stayed still. He’d done nothing productive in that conversation. If he didn’t start trying to stir shit up soon, brown would ask questions. It would get back to Logan. 

This whole thing would be for nothing.

But right now, his partner trusted him enough, and he had a pretty solid alibi. Things were starting out alright. Well, as alright as a fucking murder mission could start.

***

Three days passed in relative peace. He went about his daily maintenance tasks. Greg trailed after him like a fucking lost dog, but that was fine. The more they stuck around each other the easier people would believe Greg. He ate his meals while Greg talked, replied to messages from Logan and Shiv and ignored the one from his mother who was worried about what he’d gotten himself into. He didn’t blame her, but he wasn’t going to explain anything until he could do it in person.

He bid Greg goodnight and retreated to his room. Brown must have been waiting on him, to prove himself a solid partner or whatever, and that accounted for the lull in activity. They weren’t nearly close to running out of time, but the sooner it was over the better.

Maybe that was just him.

Somebody knocked on the door. Tom slipped his datapad under his pillow and got up to press the door unlock button. He hoped it wasn’t brown coming to demand to know what he’d been spending his time doing.

“Hey buddy,” he said, the smile he’d plastered on faltering the second he saw Greg’s face, “What’s up?”

“More dead. Two,” he pointed down the hall, “on the navigation deck. They want to have a meeting. I guess, like, some people think that maybe it’s intentional.”

“Oh,” Tom replied, “Now?”

“Uh huh.”

“Guess we better go,” Tom nodded, “Lead the way.”

“I’m sorta worried I might like, die?” Greg said, rubbing the back of his neck as they made their way down the hall to the elevator, “I mean, if there’s like, a murderer on the lose or something.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Tom clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ll look after you. It’s probably nothing, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep my eye on you. Do you trust me?”

Greg looked at him, up and down, as if he could get a read, “I mean. I guess so. I guess if you were a murderer you probably would have killed me already.”

“Rock solid logic,” Tom chuckled, hopefully to cover anything odd in his tone. But Greg smiled back, and Tom was pretty sure he was set. 

It didn’t make him feel as good as it should.  
***

When the fifth body was found, flung over a chair in the medical wing, Tom thought he was fucked.

“I’m just saying,” Tabitha, the woman in yellow said. Tom had heard someone call her name at lunch a few days ago. She was pretty, and the first time he’d seen all her curly blonde hair come tumbling out of her helmet he’d been more than a little attracted to her. He was pretty sure she knew it too, “That I saw you talking to the poor fucker this morning.”

She was convincing. Good at commanding a crowd. And he had spoken to the poor sap that morning. In fact, he’d spoken to him _in_ the medical wing, while Greg dug around for the first aid kit for the burn he’d gotten trying to fix the shitty ovens in the kitchen. 

“Tom’s been with me all day,” Greg said, “So like, he would literally have had to like, knock me out to go do it.”

“I have to agree with Bigfoot over there,” the man in dark green said. His name started with an E, Tom thought, but didn’t know what it was, “Those two are always around each other. If Greg says that Tom didn’t leave his sight, it probably wasn’t Tom. Greg’s still alive isn’t he?”

“It’s suspicious as hell,” Tabitha eyed him, “But fucking _whatever_.”

“We can’t keep going on like this though,” Brown spoke up. Tom didn’t know how you could just murder someone then talk about it like you didn’t, “They’re just gonna keep fucking picking us off. I’m just saying that I haven’t seen fucking you around here all day Vanilla..”

“Me?” Jonah, the one in white said. His voice cracked on the one word, and he looked around at them, “What am I supposed to have done?”

“Just haven’t seen you today,” Brown said shrugging, “It’s a little suspicious. You go off on your own and somebody turns up dead.”

“I’ve been fucking cleaning up the storage all day,” Jonah said, and even Tom could hear the desperation creeping into his tone. Tom felt almost sorry for the poor sucker. _Almost._ He couldn’t afford to get sentimental now. Not when Tabitha was glaring at him, and they were about to throw an innocent person out of the airlock-- that was the agreed upon method for disposing of whoever it was. No one wanted to let them live, and they had to pay for all the blood somehow, “I swear.”

“I’m sorry,” Greg said, eyeing Tom. Fucking of course he apologized. It was just going to make everything worse. 

It was put to a vote. Tom went back to his room and threw up his breakfast. He pressed his face against the coolness of the sink, and tried not to think too much about how cold space was.

***

“I think it could be Tabitha,” Tom said, walking to Greg’s room without waiting to be invited, “Did you notice how she did nothing to defend Jonah, but had it out for me?”

“You don’t think it was Jonah?” Greg asked quickly, nervously.

“I’m just saying that it could have been her,” Tom ran a hand over his face. He was tired, but not because of the reasons Greg probably thought. It was good to get a read on Greg’s thoughts on this. Tabitha was onto him for sure. Correctly, though a little misplaced. He _was_ to blame, but he hadn’t actually committed this murder.

“Do-do you think she wants to kill you?”

Tom shook his head, “I don’t know. But you saw that?”

“Yeah it was kinda weird,” Greg nodded. Honestly, fuck him, Tom thought, why the fuck was he so willing to go along with Tom? Was he that desperate for some kind of safety? Was he a fucking moron? “Do you think she might come after me? If it’s her?”

“Possibly,” Tom said. Actually, if it had been Tabitha, then Greg’s logic was sound. But it wasn’t her. He might as well build up the suspense though, “You better stick with me I guess.”

“Is that alright?”

“It’s fine dumb shit,” Tom replied, “I also don’t want to get murdered. Not that I think you could stop a murderer.”

Greg laughed, “I think maybe if we stick together, we’d be safer. Like the people that are dead, maybe they were alone. How many people are even left Tom? I feel like we’re all going to die.”

“There’s still almost nine of us Greg. And maybe we were right. It could have been Jonah.”

“Dude you don’t really think we killed an innocent person?”

Tom looked at him. Greg seemed to be waiting for him to speak, and Tom tried to make his mouth lie, but he couldn’t do it.

“Fuck,” Greg said.

“Don’t do anything yet. You’ll draw her attention. Just think it over.”

***

Tom had to do something. He knew it. So while the ship was in chaos, with the O2 leak, and the failing lights, he slipped down to the reactor. It was dangerous. He didn’t know much about reactors, but brown would be waiting for him to make an actual move. So he fucked with the reactor, turned off the safety. The alarm was still blaring-- evidently they hadn’t fixed the oxygen yet, and he slipped back out, jogged towards the other end of the ship. The the O2 was fixed, the reactor meltdown alarm went off. 

“This shit is nuts,” Greg shook his head. Tom felt his heart speeding up. He was pretty sure Greg hadn’t seen him slip away, not in all the chaos, but he wasn’t actually certain. 

“Guess it wasn’t fucking Jonah,” Tom said through clentched teeth. He felt someone clap him on the back. Guess the reactor was an acceptable move. 

Greg winced, “Guess not.”

Tom thought he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. 

Did he know?

But Greg smiled at him, pulling him along towards the reactor. 

No, he did not think Greg knew.

***

“Your turn,” Brown muttered, passing Tom at the coffee machine. Tom felt his stomach drop, but nodded, without turning to look. He had to, and he knew it. He’d just have to sneak out of Greg’s sight, since Greg had practically attached them at the hip. 

“I just know I’m gonna be next,” he had said.

“I fucking told your dumbass I would look after you,” Tom had replied. Greg hadn’t seemed to really believe him. Tom wondered if at the next meeting, Greg would let him die. 

He glanced over the remaining crew while he walked to his table. It couldn’t be Tabitha. That would be too obvious. Greg was off the table too. 

(Actually, the thought of killing Greg was enough to make him feel ill, but he still had time to come to terms with it.)

“Dude,” Greg said when he sat down with his shitty mud coffee, “I think it’s the woman who’s wearing purple actually. You see her?”

“Yes Greg, I have eyes. What’s your no doubt amazing evidence for this?”

“I think she’s talking to Tabitha,” Greg frowned, “That’s why she’s blaming you. Tabitha’s, like, her pawn. What’s her name?”

Tom managed to press down a comment about Greg’s inability to realize that _he_ was the pawn. 

“Grace,” Tom said, unsure when he had learned that. He couldn’t very well kill those two, but if Greg wanted to play Sherlock Holmes and lay the blame at Grace’s feet, that would be the perfect in when Tom’s victim was discovered. 

He settled on light green, because it was the only person who’s name he had never learned. He could hate himself over it later.

***

“I think it’s Grace,” Greg said, starting off the meeting, much to several people’s suprise, “I think she’s fucking sketchy.”

“Oh yeah?” Grace put her hands on her hips, “Got a single fucking reason or were you too busy sucking Tom off in an empty room somewhere?”

Greg ignored her, “You’re always like, a room away from the dead people. And you and Tabitha are close as hell, and she’s throwing out accusations.”

“I saw you two down by the comms,” Brown said, and Greg raised his eyebrows. Tom wondered what the fuck was going on in his head right now, “And the body was in that hallway. You have to admit that’s pretty fucked. You’d be stupid not to. We can throw you both out if that helps.”

“Dude,” Greg frowned, “I don’t think we should go around killing innocent people.”

Tom wished he hadn’t said it.

“I saw them too,” Stewy-- that was dark blue’s name, piped up. Tom thought Stewy was a dastardly little fucker. If he didn’t know it was brown, he’d have probably suspected him ages ago. He sort of respected it. Maybe he could make a career out of this shit if he made it out alive.

The two made eye contact. Tom wondered what was going through their minds. Was Tabitha thinking her friend had been lying this entire time? Was she feeling betrayed? Was she certain Grace was innocent and now suspecting Greg?

“Well fucking vote then,” Grace shot back, “And I hope I can come back as a ghost and make you all fucking pay.”

***

The bodies piled up. No one trusted anybody. Tom thought brown was probably out of his mind thrilled. Probably turned on to the max now. Tabitha blamed Greg. Stewy was just in it for the drama, Tom thought. 

“It’s time to get rid of him,” Brown said, cornering him at the helm, “Let them vote him out if you’re too chickenshit to do it yourself. But his use is finished. I’m sick of him buzzing around.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tom said, but even he thought he sounded like he was lying. Brown wouldn’t believe him, “I will. It’s my fucking job isn’t it.”

“Just saying,” Brown shrugged, “Do it.”

Tom watched him leave. 

Greg popped in, smiling, “Dude, I think I fixed the fucking clogged chute. Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Tom replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a little pale.”

“Come on. It’s spooky as shit out here alone.”

He thought about it. Greg had his back turned. Tom could do it, quickly. Greg probably would be dead before he even knew what hit him. Would never know it was him. The odds of them blaming him for it were slim. But even though he could do it, he didn’t.

Maybe he wasn’t a killer. Maybe he was losing his mind.

“Come here,” Tom grabbed his sleeve to stop him from going. Tom was already going to hell. And he was already fucking Greg over. And he was pretty sure he was losing his grip on reality. They’d been on the ship forever it seemed. 

“What is it?” Greg frowned, as Tom slammed the door unlock button, and pulled Greg into the oxygen room. He pressed Greg against the wall and kissed him. He didn’t know he was going to do it until he did it. He should have just fucking commited and done it. 

“Oh,” Greg said. Tom still had him pinned to the wall, “I kind of thought you were going to kill me.”

“What?” Tom pulled away. Had Greg been fucking playing him this entire time? Did Greg actually know? Tom had long since assumed otherwise. He would have said something already. 

Greg smiled, “I’m just kidding man.”

“I fucking hate you,” Tom kissed him again. 

This was the worst idea he had ever had. 

***

If he hadn’t been going to hell before, taking someone to bed and fucking them, all while knowing you had to kill them had to be enough to get him a free pass. But it hadn’t stopped him from stumbling back to his room, from tearing clothes off, from laughing and tripping over his own feet in his eagerness. Hadn’t stopped him from loving it. Hadn’t stopped him from holding Greg to his chest when it was done, sitting in the silence, with nothing but the hum of the engine to keep his mind occupied.

First class ticker probably. He’d never be able to look at his own face again without waiting to smash the mirror into a thousand pieces. 

But now Greg was asleep, face smooshed into the pillow, and hair slick with sweat. He had fallen asleep fairly quickly, probably feeling safe in Tom’s bed. Tom didn’t have any intention of sleeping, so maybe his feelings weren't wrong.

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to anyway. Sleep, much like food and calmness had eluded him the past few nights. It was easy to blame it on the stress of it all, but Tom knew better.

He reached out carefully, and brushed a finger across his forehead. Greg made a soft noise. He rolled over and threw an arm over Greg. Like he could protect him with something so simple and stupid.

Tom was royally, _royally_ fucked. 

***

“Should we like, get drinks after this? Like assuming we don’t die?” Greg asked. Tom pulled his shirt on. It was nearly dinner, and the last thing Tom wanted was people wondering where they were. With the small group left, any ordinary act was automatically assumed to be the worst. He had to be on his best behavior. His messages were full of threats from Logan, questions from Shiv. People wanted to know how it was going. Was he almost done? Maybe they thought he was dead, and would give up if he stopped responding.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Tom replied. He thought of Shiv. Of the life he was ensuring by taking on this shit in the first place. Of the life he was ensuring by killing Greg. Rather, by letting Greg die.

It wouldn’t matter though. Whatever he told Greg. Yes or no to drinks. Greg would never forgive him if he even made it off this ship alive.

“Yeah sure,” Tom said, smiling tightly, “That sounds like fun.”

“Are you alright?” Greg asked. 

“Uh huh,” Tom replied, “Swell. Come on. I’m not getting killed because we were late to dinner.”

“Are you sure man?”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, just stick by me huh? Shit is about the hit the fucking fan.”

Greg hesitated. Tom wished he’d say whatever was on his mind, but he just shrugged. 

“Do you trust me?” Tom asked. 

“You haven’t killed me,” Greg frowned. It was not an answer, “So like, yeah.”

“Aren’t I suspicious to you? Haven’t I caused any concern in that big fucking head of yours?”

“You haven’t killed me,” Greg repeated, shrugging, “And you had plenty of chances. I don’t know why you’re here Tom, but you aren’t going to kill me.”

It felt almost like a challenge. A small part of him wanted to jump up, to call his bluff. What, he wanted to shout, you don’t think I can? 

But all he did was shrug too, “Yeah. Guess that makes sense.”

***

They had gone to divert electric power to comms.

It was simple enough. 

Greg was on his heels, but given the fact that he was pretty sure brown had just taken out the poor woman in pink-- Karolina-- they were probably safe. He’d seen him turn that way, following the splash of pink down the hall.

Brown was leaving Greg up to him anyway, and it was more than likely Stewy or Tabitha were on the chopping block. Maybe he could figure something out when the others were dead. Tom pushed the door open, let Greg in first with an obnoxious ushering motion, and followed him in.

And then the lights went out.

For a moment, all Tom could hear was the sound of his own breathing, and the thumping heart, hard against his ribs. He put a hand out, blindly, and felt the hard metal of the electrical casing. The dumbass little flashlights they’d been issued were far from enough in this level of darkness. 

“Did you step on the fucking switch?” he asked, groping for the door. It swung open, and he reached out, the first wire sparking slightly. He waved the smoke away, “Son of a bitch.”

“You know what you’re doing?” Greg asked. Judging by the sound of his voice he was leaning over Tom’s shoulder as he spoke, “Cause, like, you might set the whole ship on fire.”

“Fuck off.”

Greg chuckled quietly. Something somewhere clanged. Everything was worse in the dark. 

“You alright?” Greg asked.

“Yes.”

He’d never been good at this electrician shit, but Greg had probably tripped over his own two feet in the dark and hit his head on a low hanging pipe, and would be fucking useless at this. If he’d been alone, he’d have left it. Let brown finish his shit in the dark, unbothered, but with Greg there watching him he had to fix it. A few tries had the power humming back on, in here at least. Content, he shut the door and turned. 

“Tom?” Greg asked quietly, and Tom’s brain wasn’t working fast enough to process things that quickly. Not the hulking figure in the brown suit, not the blood dripping from his knife, and not Greg, with his hand pressed to his chest, doing little to staunch the blood flow.

“I gave you enough time,” the voice said. He sounded like every monster from every horror movie, from the deepest pits of hell, despite the fact that he was a regular person too, “And now your time is up.”

In a swift movement-- far too swift for a figure that imposing, Tom thought stupidly-- he flung the vent open and jumped down. Tom should have gone after him, fled the scene, so to speak, but he didn’t. 

Instead, he went over to Greg, and caught him before he hit the ground. Greg was heavy-- heavier than he had expected, and they did hit the ground harder than he wanted to. Pain shot up through his knees, and Greg was fully dead weight now, his suit growing slick with blood.

“Hey,” Tom said. It was the only word that came to his mind. Greg was staring up at him with those stupid fucking sad eyes of his, “Hey it’s alright.”

But it wasn’t alright, because from the looks of it, the knife had pierced his lung, right through, as well as a nice jab through the abdomen. It had always amazed him, how much blood was in someone, and now it was flowing freely, pooling around Greg as it did. He pressed a hand to the stomach wound, but Tom wasn’t a moron. It was fatal. Had to be. By the time he could get anybody here, any treatment, it would be too late.

“Tom?”

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s me.”

Greg’s breathing was a horrible, wheezing sort of sound, and a sharp cough sent blood dripping out of the side of his mouth. It was covering his own hands, draining out faster than Tom could stop it. 

“Does it hurt?” Tom asked, pressing down. He couldn’t do anything about the lung wound, but thought pressing on it might make it worse. He was no fucking doctor.

(Like his lung wasn’t already fucking collapsing as they sat there.)

“Not really,” Greg winced, “I can’t br-breathe very well.”

“Maybe don’t try to talk then dumbass.”

“You gotta go,” Greg said. He looked like he wanted to point towards the door, but his arm fell limply at his side. It was fucking pathetic, “You can’t be here.”

Every word seemed to be painful, and Tom wanted to smack him and tell him to shut the fuck up why did he have to make it worse by talking. An alarm went off somewhere. Maybe fucking brown suit had cut off the oxygen supply and they were all going to die anyway. Maybe someone else was dead. He made no effort to move, even though the floor was cold and hard under his knees.

“It’s alright,” Tom replied. He tucked a strand of hair behind Greg’s ear, gently. It felt like a reassuring touch, one you might do to a child who was hurt. Someone you _loved_ , “They already fucking think it’s me.”

“Sorry. Can’t vouch for you this time,” Greg smiled up at him, weakly, but holy shit he was smiling. How the _fuck_ was he smiling?

“It’s uh, well, I should probably tell you that it was me. One of them was me.”

“I know,” Greg said, much to Tom’s surprise, “Pretty sure I saw- saw you fuck up the reactor. Pretty sure you killed that guy. I knew.”

“You didn’t rat me out?” There had been a hundred opportunities. What was Greg’s play?

“No,” Greg frowned, “Figured you had a good reason. Had it under control. I trust you.”

He coughed again. More blood. Tom felt sick.

“I’m sorry.” The words felt weird in his mouth. He _was_ sorry. For a lot of things. For agreeing to this shit in the first place, for letting Greg live long enough to care about him. For not knocking Greg out, throwing him in an escape pod and pressing launch. For everything, “I did say I would look after you. I was never going to hurt you.”

He found it true when he said it. It was a fact he had known, maybe for a while now. Maybe since Greg had first given him his stupid smile, who fucking knew? He wasn’t going to hurt Greg. In fact, he probably would have protected him, if it came down to it. That was the _opposite_ of what he was supposed to be doing. But he found he meant it. Greg was going to come off this Goddamn ship alive if Tom had to drag him forcibly. 

But now it wouldn’t matter.

“Mm,” Greg shook his head. At least, Tom thought that’s what it was. His movements were slow and pained, “You did. I'm not mad at you.”

The blood was still flowing, from both wounds, but gently, Greg pulled his hand away. Tom went to put it back, but Greg held on to his sleeve to stop him. His grip was weak, but effective.

“It’s not,” he grimaced, “Not worth it.”

Tom stared at his hand, coated in blood. The other rested on Greg’s shoulder. He wiped the bloody one on his pants. More evidence to his guilt, but he’d already assumed that when he’d taken his eyes off Greg for a moment too long. It would be alright.

He had never considered himself a hero. Sure, he was doing as he was asked, and maybe to some people that would make him a hero-- probably not though-- but it was alright with him to coast through life. An anti hero. Maybe the villain. Certainly the villain when whoever walked in here found him hunched over Greg’s dead body, certainly the villain when they dragged him in front of the rest of the crew, where the others would deem him guilty and throw him into cold and unforgiving space. 

But maybe Greg had seen him as a hero. Even for a little bit. There weren’t too many of them left now, and Greg had made it through because he’d hung around Tom. Did that make him a fucking hero? Or did it just make him a fucking shield?

“Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re gonna kill you.”

“I know,” Tom swallowed, “I know. It’s alright.”

That wasn’t true. Tom didn’t _want_ to die. Of course he didn’t want to die. He had come onto this fucking ship with the intentions of leaving. The self preservation part of his brain, the part that told you to run when you were faced down by an animal, the part that told you to yank back your hand when something was hot, that part, told him to set Greg down and bolt. Get as far away from here as possible. Ditch the bloody clothes and put on a poker face.

But the kind part, the tiny fucking part he’d worked hard to ignore, to beat down, made him stay. Nobody deserved to die alone. And especially not Greg.

“I wish that we had more time,” Greg said. The wheezing was worse now, “I kind of like you.”

“Yeah,” Tom let out a laugh. It was shaky and it sounded like he was about to sob, “I kind of like you too.”

He knew Greg was dead a moment later. His head lolled to one side, and a quick check found no pulse. No rise and fall of breathing. Nothing. Just silence.

In a fit of something-- maybe he was having a nervous breakdown-- he leaned down and kissed his forehead. He was still warm, though if Tom sat there long enough, that would fade. Like he would just fully slip away.

“Oh shit,” a voice said, and Tom looked up. Tabitha. Of fucking course it was, “It _was_ you? He fucking _trusted_ you. That’s fucking horrific.”

“It looks like it. I know it looks like it,” Tom nodded, but he’d been caught with the body, and it was his fault, and so there was no reason to even attempt to deny it. It _did_ look like it, “I’m sorry.”

__

__

“Don’t fucking move,” the other voice--Stewy with his helmet on. It took Tom a moment to come up with his name, which seemed strange. It was like only half his brain was working now. It didn’t matter anyway. Knowing his name was not going to keep Tom alive longer than the two seconds it would take to say it. 

“I won’t,” he said. He was failing his one fucking job by turning himself over.. He could have killed them both, if he tried. Killed one and got the other to go along with him in order to stay alive. Threaten them into agreeing. There were only a few of them left. He and the other one were practically in the clear. Taking out either Stewy or Tabitha would have been enough. Not enough bodies left to keep the ship going. It was a secured victory. 

They were both persuasive. Good speakers, he thought. Tom wouldn’t have lasted this long if Greg hadn’t defended him so frequently. He was a shit public speaker. They both knew it was him, they were just waiting for the excuse. He should have killed them. 

But he didn’t do any of that. He just sat there, Greg’s head in his lap, blood soaking through his flight suit. He was going to hell now, they were going to throw him out into space and he was not going to stop them. It was what he deserved. But maybe that was alright. He wasn't sure he wanted to face things again. Not like this. Greg wasn't mad at him. That's all he needed. Jesus fucking Christ that's all he needed. When the hell had it all gone wrong? 

It was better this way. 

**Author's Note:**

> i really said tabitha and stewy supremacy in this fic huh. it tracks
> 
> i will let u decide who brown is. i really didn't pick anybody. i also don't think i ever said it but tom is orange bc it makes me think about that one episode of doctor who w ten in his lil orange jumpsuit.


End file.
